Stories Of the Past
by RantWaitingToHappen
Summary: The team is ordered to go to therapy  of all things  and Gibbs is not happy about it; although it seems Tony's the one who should be more concerned about what Dr. Dorian uncovers in their group sessions! Tibbs! SLASH! Lots of H/C and fluff and familyteam!
1. Chapter 1

I.

THERAPY.

Yes, therapy. Sheppard had ordered her best NCSI team to go to group therapy/team building sessions. It was mandatory, and they had no cases pending or whatsoever, to otherwise occupy them.

"This is going to be so much fun guys!" the ever optimistic Goth (what a paradox that is) cheered, as the team was led into the office, where they would spend an entire two hours, with some therapist who'd probably run out of there five minutes after she saw their odd dynamics.

"Why yes Abigail, I do believe so." Ducky chuckled at her sheer enthusiasm.

Gibbs glared at them both. "Why are you two coming again?" the sessions were merely for field agents on the team-not the lab forensic queen and the coroner, although Gibbs did wish one of them could take his place. He had better things to do-maybe figure out a way to get the damn boat out of his basement. Tony had been teasing him about it for a while now. Among other things, including his vision. Suddenly irritated by his own train of thought, Gibbs head slapped Tony, as they walked down the hall.

Tony startled and blinked, big green eyes flashing bafflement and Gibbs almost felt bad about taking his frustrations out on his senior field agent. "What was that for?" he yelped.

Instead of apologizing like he had intended, Gibbs just replied, "I won't be able to do that in front of the God damn therapist, and I can't wait two whole hours."

Tony grinned, "Afraid that whole Alzheimer's thing might make ya forget-" SMACK! Tony rubbed the back of his head-ok, so he had been asking for that one. "Sorry Boss." he muttered.

Kate rolled her eyes at their antics, as they stepped into the therapists' office. McGee mused at Ducky and Abby; they were here purely to observe, and to save the therapist from Gibbs, if he tried to set her on fire-the usual stuff.

The therapist introduced herself as Dr. Dorian. She was a woman in her late forties, with graying blonde hair, and deep lines around her cheeks, indicating she smiled a lot, she had bright blue eyes, and was dressed in casual attire. Overall, she looked rather friendly. Gibbs, though, he kept a weary eye on her, as they all took a seat, in a position meant to be a circle, but looked more like an awkward oval shapep thing. God, how he despised therapy. Damn Jenny and her damn worry about the damn team and their damn mental states.

"Alright then, I'm well acquainted with all your names, including Doctor Mallard and Abigail Scutio." she smiled in their direction. "And I'm sure after five years, you all know each other s names as well, so I think we can skip the introductions, unless there are any objections?"

Gibbs continued to glare at no one in particular, arms folded across his chest.

"Ok then, moving on. I don t want anyone to get alarmed, but I was given the tools and authority, by the director of NCIS, to get a personal look into your pasts, and lives, thus far. To be clear, I might just know more about each of you," she said, excluding Abby and Ducky, who were just sitting in to rein in Gibbs, just in case, "Than all of you know about each other." as she finished, Dr. Dorian got the feeling that she'd said too much.

Gibbs stood up abruptly, "She had no right to authorize-"

"She had every right, actually." She interrupted boldly, making the teams eyes go wide at her audacity. "Now, unless-"

Gibbs was already on the move, when sirens were suddenly heard through out the building, and the doors locked themselves automatically.(run with me on this one, otherwise this story won t go anywhere, it's the only way I could think to trap Gibbs and the team in the same room with a therapist for longer than five minutes .)

"What the hell?" he exclaimed.

Through the speakers, Jenny Sheppard s voice could be heard clearly, after a few seconds, when the sirens had ceased. "A dangerous bio-chemical spill has been made in autopsy. I have been assured everything is fine, and that no one has been injured, or is in need of medical assistance, but for precautions' sake, all persons must remain where they are, and do not attempt to unlock any doors, we are still not a hundred percent sure that the chemical spill is not hazardous, therefore, I repeat, all persons must remain where they are, NCIS is officially on lockdown until further notice."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Gibbs grit through his teeth.

"It seems we have all the time in the world, now, if you ll please take a seat, and we can begin?" she motioned towards his prior seat. "You don't have to say anything, you can sit there and make faces at me, and pout all you want Special Agent Gibbs, but until I sign your papers, telling the Director that you are in perfect mental health, you will be on desk duty, and if she feels it fit, on suspension for a good long while." she smiled innocently, and Caitlyn gawked at the womans' courage.

Begrudgingly, Gibbs took a seat, as far away from the therapist as possible, set his jaw, and glared.

Ducky shook his head at his friends stubbornness, albeit, it was a bit extreme for Jenny to have basically dug into their pasts the way she did, and then send them all to a therapist.

Unorthodox, even.

**A/N:**

I want to apologize to everyone reading any of my other stories right now (when I get an idea in my head I run with it, instead of just finishing the other three I've got piled up right now!) but rest assured I'm still writing all of them, and will be updating every couple of days, even if I continue to start more stories (there is indeed an end in sight!). Umm, so yeah, click that little review button down there, tell me how you liked or disliked it? Thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hiya! I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed :D And to butterflykaguy87, no offence taken; in fact, that you took the time to write all that out just shows me how passionate you are about the subject at hand (which duh, since you've been in school for six years, shouldn't come as a surprise), and I admit, I should've researched the whole thing better (I'm totally out of my element here) but even for someone like me who hasn't the slightest clue about therapy and therapists I know how unethical it would be for a therapist to announce blatantly that she/he has all this confidential info on their patient(s)-that's why I wrote she'd realized she'd said too much, but not to give too much away to those of you still interested in this story, but she's not supposed to be a good therapist, she's not supposed to earn their trust, etc. So, that partly was on purpose, as for Abby and Ducky being there, I just friggin' love those two to bits and pieces and couldn't imagine them not being there. :O But, yeah, just thought I'd explain a few things. And if you don't want to read the rest of my story, thats fine too, thanks for checking it out though. :) Also, thank you either way for reviewing, it's the longest review I've gotten since joining this site a couple of weeks ago, so yeah, even if it wasn't exactly positive, I'm a whore for reviews (or at least I've become one lately -.-) so THANK YOU! :) Well, sorry for this loooong authors' note, I hope you guys like it! (sorry in advance for all the mistakes I make!)Enjoy! :D Also, for those of you wondering, yes, Kates still alive and nope, Ziva never joined the team (in this fic, anyway). Alright, onwards! Review pleeeeease! :]

II.

GIBBS WAS PISSED.

He didn't want to be here. He didn't need to be here. And he certainly didn't need Dr. Dorian peeking into his private life, much less spewing any of it to his team; if he wanted them to know about it, he damn well would have told them already. So he crossed his arms over his chest and continued to glare at her darkly. And the director-he had a gut feeling this was all orchestrated by that woman. Why she would do any of this was anyones' guess, he sure as hell didn't know.

Gibbs realized belated they'd been talking for a while now. "So much stress for politeness sake." Tony was babbling on. "Michael Pitt, AKA Paul from the film 'Funny Games', came out in 2007, really morbid piece, these two quirky psychopaths take a family hostage. A real shame it wasn't recognized more widely, some say not enough action, but I say Americans are just getting slower, because the conversation between Paul and Peter, the two psychos, the dialogue was crazy entertaining, I could quote those two all day, in fact. But you know, the film was originally an Austrian film, directed by-"

"This is what I have to deal with everyday." Kate rolled her eyes, interrupting the senior field agent.

"See how rude she is Doc?" Tony feigned an exasperated sigh. Abby giggled.

After a moment, wherein everyone was in a moment of chaos, shouting over one another like kids, Dr. Dorian finally got everyone to calm down and listen to her. She was an odd therapist, Tony thought to himself, not exactly very bright, if not pretty bad at her job. She was kind enough, but seemed to be digging for something.

First, that emergency lockdown couldn't be a coincidence, and the fact that Dr. Dorian had shot him an odd look when she'd spoken about knowing each of them more than they knew eachother, that was definately off. And to make matters worse, she apparently had dug up their personal lives, and had everything stashed away in a that briefcase of hers. Tony was certain that couldn't be legal.

He knew for sure something was up when she skipped greetings, and pleasentries, and was now asking each team member to talk about a traumatic moment in their lives. Tony frowned. He was no therapist, but surely you couldn't skip to one extreme from the other like that, could you?

He could tell though, that McGee, who didn't exactly have anything to hide, didn't mind sharing anything with the team, and therefore wasn't suspicious. Kate was another case entirely, he could tell she probably had a few hidden skeletons in her closet, nothing too major, but enough not to want to just spout it out the second a stranger asked, but she was also a hardcore feminist, and that Dr. Dorian was a successful woman spoke to her and made Kate want to like and trust her almost instantly. Gibbs' obviously didn't like the woman, and with good reason too. Duck looked to be as suspicious as Tony, although both hid it quite well, and Abby liked the idea of being able to trust someone of the doctors profession and was also naively taken in by Dr. Dorian.

McGee had drawn the short straw and was now telling them about a traumatic moment in his lifetime, which, as everyone had already known about, was when he'd thought he'd shot a man to death. Nonetheless, everyone listened patiently and supportively. Dr. Dorian wrote notes in her pad and nodded along as he spoke.

Tony though, wasn't really listening at that point. He remembered a traumatic moment in his life-more like, a traumatic period in his life, really, and he couldn't help but think back on it. Now, it seemed like a very distant, vague nightmare.

**Ten Years Ago...**

Time no longer mattered, right then, it was simply a word of a thing that used to hold so much meaning in life. Now, though, the clocks don't tick, or tock, they sit there, at the edge of the room, mocking my very existence; my state of oblivion is undeniably bleak. Had it been only hours?-days?-weeks?-months?-surely it couldn't be years? That would be too unbearable, too dreadful to fathom the idea that I've lost such a vast amount of time. So much meaningless, precious time.

Inside of this box, nothing much matters, except the air that I breath and these four ivory coloured walls. At least once a day,(hour? week? month?)the walls start closing in on me, trying to devour that which is me.

And then on rare occasions, a man in a white painters suit comes into the box; and for the life of me, I can't figure out how, for there is no door in the box-only four white walls. He says his name is Fred, but I never remember, because it's not of importance in the box, and only important things can be stored in the box. Not names. Not time. Only air.

The man in white strokes the hairs on the back of my head, tells me how he wants to befriend me, and the statement is always followed up by this crocodile smile that never ever reaches those cold, reptile eyes of his. Except, he's the only real connection I have to the rest of the world, outside of this box, with plaster walls and clocks that don't tick or tock, and names that won't remain, and air that's ironically suffocating at best. The closer I let the man in white get, the more he tells me. They're always small, insignificant things, with little to no details, like who won the football game, or what celebrity married the other, or some scandal on the news about the effects of plastic surgery-things that in the right state of mind, I wouldn't give a second thought to, would rather not know, in fact. But in this box, I have no ears or eyes, or a mouth, or even a thought to spare to the world outside, not one thing except that peculiar man in white, with the petrified, distant eyes.

I indulge him, try to look enticed by the tiny bits of information he has come to me with. A thought stikes me one day, as I count the invisible tiles on the cieling, that _they _send the man in white to keep me intact-so that I don't go completely insane. To keep their lab rat on the edge of the cliff, push him off, only to rheel him back up again-I'm never able to enjoy the fall. It pisses me off, that they honestly believe I haven't lost my mind yet, and I decide to prove them wrong, because what do they know about the things inside my head?

The man in white comes in one morning?-night?-evening?, with that same crocodile smile glued to his lips, and my own lips quirk into this awkward, cynical thing that no sane human being would dare deem a grin. His eyes, cold and owlish, become suddenly aware, and to this day, a knawing feeling inside of me screams that he knew exactly what I was going to do, that he wanted it. But that's a lie, because fear was etched into those perfect almond eyes, and it's not the man in white who wanted it, but I. I needed, desperately needed, sweet, sweet release.

Only, I took the cowards way out, and I don't know how much later on it was, when I heard a familiar click, and near the corner of the room, I spotted a woman, in a starch vanilla lab coat, and black heels that made little echoes with every step she took.

The woman stared with what could only be described as, horrified fascination at the bloodied and mangled body of her collegue, just a few feet from her heels. I couldn't take my eyes off of her; a morbid curiousity to be a witness to her reaction at my actions stirred in the pit of my stomach, like a starving creature. After a pregnant pause.

"You're sick." she offered her two cents, and my lips quirked again. Now that I knew her thoughts, I had everywhere to look, except at the woman in her black stilettos. She was not important. Not names. Not time. Not her. Not the corpse of the man in white. Only air and eyes.

I remember reaching underneath the bed, the anticipation welling in her, the blood on my clothes, the rotten smell of death and decay, but most of all, I remember the look on her face when I pulled out two symmetrical, circular, gore-infested, almond eyes balls. My ears had rung for a long time, even after his pleas for mercy, and agonized cries had ceased, and all was silent in the box. The woman in heels, a doctor, I assumed, didn't utter one word. I don't know specifically what it was, that drove her to flee from the box. The gruesome eyes? The dead body? The crazed look in my eyes? Or did she feel it too? The walls closing in; inching centimeter by centimeter, closer and closer to crushing my body, breaking every fragile bone, scarring my skull, leaving my body unrecognizable to the naked eye.

I began to fear the worst, when all of a sudden, food became bountiful. The box never offered enough food, only a piece of bread, and some water. Were _they _trying to poison me? It seemed a plausible idea at the time. Then another thought occurred to me. This food was possibly just a plot fatten me up, so that I could be plump and rich, enough to cook and eat. They were cannibals, the lot of them!

That said, I didn't touch not one thing on those trays. For a long time, I ate nothing, and only drank the water, when it fizzled and popped. That meant that they'd drugged it full of sleeping pills, and I ravished for sleep more than I did for food. Insomnia had become my best friend after the first few weeks of my captivation in the box, and I lay up all night, like a paranoid nutcase, with both eyes wide open.

The buzzing, yellow light bulb, the one _they _never turned off, went out abruptly, and fright of the most terrible kind imaginable engulfed me whole. I had not been in darkness for so long, that this new trauma drove me to a small corner in the box, where I sat, like some cornered animal, for the longest time I can remember. I could do nothing more than rock back and forth, switching from a swaying motion, with my legs drawn up to my chest, to the fetal position.

Then there was light. And a door.

Escape.


End file.
